The 14th Colony (Cotton Malone 11)

“And who am I to argue with a man leaving office with a 65% approval rating?” Fox said.

“I didn’t realize you were a fan,” Danny said.

“Since it’s just us here,” Fox said. “Let me say that I think you did a good job running this country. I even voted for you. Twice. Of course, political correctness prevents me from saying any of that in public. That meeting here Saturday was a show for my people. We all have to do it, from time to time. But I want to keep this country safe, just as it’s been for the past eight years. To me, that’s the number one job of this office. I know I’m new to this league, but I’m a fast learner.”

She appreciated the mea culpa, unusual for presidents.

Warner Fox certainly wasn’t Danny Daniels.

But only time would tell if that was good or bad.

“To all of you,” Fox said. “Thank you. Great work.” Fox pointed at Cotton and Cassiopeia. “Especially you, Mr. Malone. You should get a medal.”

Cotton shook his head. “Just pay me for my time, and let me get a few days’ rest. That’ll be more than enough.”

* * *

Malone stepped from the White House beneath the north portico. Blades of sharp sunlight stabbed through the retreating cold clouds. The city remained abuzz with inaugural fever, Lafayette Park and the pedestrian-only areas beyond the fence hectic with camera-toting visitors. Cassiopeia stood with him, Danny and Stephanie following quickly behind.

“I didn’t want to say anything inside,” Danny said, “since this is our little secret. But Stephanie’s pal from the park was right. People are dying fast in Moscow. It started yesterday. Three killings. Another a few hours ago. Various ministers, some at a high level, others midlevel. I imagine the message is ringing there loud and clear.”

Danny wrapped his arms around both him and Cassiopeia, slapping affectionate blows to their shoulders.

“Thank you both for what you did. Great work. And I wasn’t bullshittin’ in there. This new administration needs all of you. Help them out, if you can.”

A dark sedan waited under the portico.

Danny produced a set of keys. “I borrowed it. I’ve been waiting a long time for this. I finally get to drive.”

“What will the Secret Service have to say about that?” Stephanie asked. “You have a detail assigned to you, right?”

“I took a cue from the first George Bush and refused any further protection. Don’t want ’em. Don’t need ’em. Just me from now on.”

Stephanie shook her head. “God help us. He’s loose on the world with no adult supervision.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “There’s you.” He motioned to the car. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?”

“The hospital in Virginia, to see Luke. You can start rebuilding the Magellan Billet tomorrow. I also need to shake the hand of a brave navy lieutenant named Sue Begyn.”

Stephanie held the Tallmadge journal, which he’d told her to bring from the Oval Office. Danny pointed at it and said, “We need to return that to the older Begyn. Our people have gone through it and could find no more secrets to cause us problems.”

She was relieved to hear that. “And I owe the Society of Cincinnati that library from the Charon estate.”

“It’s already being handled,” he said. “I’m told that, amazingly, it survived the fire.” Danny reached for the car door. “And I have a present for my nephew. I’m having his car repaired, good as new. On me.”

She knew Luke would like that.

They climbed inside and the engine revved. Before motoring off Danny wound down the window and said, “You two take care. And don’t be strangers.”

The car peeled away and headed toward the south vehicle gates, disappearing around a curve and into the trees.

“What did he mean,” he asked Cassiopeia, “when he said to Stephanie, ‘There’s you’?”

“It’s a long story. But I think it’s okay to tell you now.”

He was intrigued.

“I doubt we’ve seen or heard the last of Danny Daniels,” she said.

He agreed. No way.

They walked from the building toward the pedestrian gate in the north fence. The RA-115 had been retrieved from the tunnel and experts had verified that, as Danny had said inside, it had been only seconds away from triggering. The subterranean cold had prolonged the process for enough extra moments to allow its disarming. Inspection also revealed that the weapon, along with the other four, was totally viable. The Secret Service had already sealed the tunnel entrance beneath the church with tons of concrete and planned to fill in the entire remnants beneath the North Lawn.

They strolled down the paved lane toward the guard station. He couldn’t help but stare out at the manicured lawn of winter rye. Yesterday, he’d been encased beneath it. Neither one of them had reported anything more than that the bomb had been found and deactivated. So only he and Cassiopeia knew what really happened.

“You know that you can tell me anything,” she said, “I hope that’s true for me to you.”

He faced her. “Always.”

They’d both seen the other at their most vulnerable. He with her in Central Asia, then again in Utah. She, just yesterday, in the ground beneath their feet. Shame coursed through him at the thought. But he was glad that it had been Cassiopeia who’d heard him. He could still feel her reassuring grip on his ankles, the dirt wrapping him like a mummy. Nothing had ever reassured him more. He was surprised at how emotional his thoughts had become. But she had that effect on him.

As he’d said. He loved her.

And what was wrong with that?

He pointed off beyond the gate toward Lafayette Park. “The Hay-Adams hotel is just past the trees, across the street from St. John’s Church. I’ve always wanted to stay there. Robert Ludlum loved to use the place in his novels—some spy always having a drink in the bar at the Hay-Adams. It sounded so mysterious.”

“I hear hotel makeup sex is pretty good, too.”

He smiled. She knew just how to work him. But that was okay. He liked being worked by her.

“How do you plan to get a room?” she asked. “It’s Inauguration Day.”

“We have friends in high places. As I was leaving the Oval Office, Fox slipped me this.” He displayed a key card for the Hay-Adams. “It opens the Federal Suite. He said it’s the best room in the house. We have it for two nights, compliments of the new president of the United States, who is, as we speak, moving his clothes from there to the White House. The hotel has been his temporary quarters for the past few days.”

She liked his proposal, but had to say, “You’re pretty sure of yourself, agreeing to all that, without asking me.”

He offered his arm, which she accepted.

“That I am.”

WRITER’S NOTE

For this novel Elizabeth and I made a memorable journey to Prince Edward Island, Canada, three trips to Washington, DC, and an excursion into rural northwestern Virginia.

Now it’s time to separate fact from fiction.

The meeting between Ronald Reagan and John Paul II happened on the date noted in the prologue, the first time a pope and president ever spoke alo

ne. The only twist I added was altering the time frame of John Paul II’s scolding of the Nicaraguan priest, which, in real life, did not happen until after June 1982. Most of the dialogue contained in the prologue accurately portrays these two men’s respective thoughts and feelings. They talked alone for fifty minutes and, to this day, no one knows what was said. As to an active conspiracy between them to bring down the Soviet Union, we have no evidence that such an agreement was ever made. But there is no doubt that tacit cooperation developed, each applying pressure to the USSR in different ways (chapter 30). Special envoys did in fact pass between them, delivering messages, but operation Forward Pass is wholly my invention. And the tens of thousands of nuclear weapons each nation possessed in 1982 (as numbered in the prologue) is correct.

The An-2 is an actual single-engine biplane, and does possess the ability to fly backward in a strong headwind (chapters 1, 5). Lake Baikal (chapter 1) is the largest freshwater reservoir in the world, and each winter its ice becomes a superhighway for cars and trucks. The deaths of hundreds of soldiers during the Great March and the building of a railway across the winter surface during the Russo-Japanese War happened (chapter 1). The observatory noted in chapter 10 is real, though I moved it from the west to the east shore. The village of Chayaniye is entirely my creation. But Kozliks, nicknamed Goats, are actual Russian military vehicles (chapter 21).

Cassiopeia’s castle reconstruction (chapter 4) is modeled after two real-life efforts. One is Guedelon in France, the other is the Ozark Medieval Fortress in Arkansas. Both have websites where you can learn more.

Black baths existed in abundance all across Siberia. The one in chapter 6 is described from a historical account. Abandoned houses are common in Virginia (chapter 8), though Brad Charon’s is purely imaginary.

There are varied locations throughout the novel: Annapolis, Germantown, St. Andrews by the Sea, Eastport, Maine, and Long Beach, Maryland. Each is described correctly. The Mandarin Oriental is a superb hotel in Washington, DC. Both Stephanie and I enjoy it from time to time. The city of Ulan-Ude sits in Siberia, along with a huge bust of Lenin (chapter 22). Prince Edward Island, Charlottetown, and Stratford are stunning Canadian locales, and a national park does stretch along the island’s north shore (chapter 37, 38). The Confederation Bridge, connecting the island to the mainland (chapters 40 and 45), is likewise real.